Pet talk

The Ledger/Tony KurdzukDo you think they talk about us the same way we talk about them?

I’m sure this has happened to you.

You’re in line for coffee, or riding the elevator, or waiting for the movie to start, and you can’t help overhearing a conversation:

"At first, the medicine seemed to be working. He felt a lot better. His appetite even came back. But gradually it seemed to lose its effectiveness. Now he’s really sinking fast."

You’re not paying all that much attention — at least you don’t think you are. Then you hear this:

"And those pills cost 80 bucks! So finally, we just decided enough was enough. We didn’t even bother renewing the prescription."

What?!? These people are cruelly denying medical care to a family member, and cavalierly chit-chatting about it at the movies?!?

Then comes the kicker:

"But the vet understood. She told us we were doing the right thing."

Ah, right. A pet. Got it. Put down the phone. No need to call DYFS to report a case of elder abuse.

Lately I seem to be falling for the pet-conversation misunderstanding more often. Perhaps that’s because pet care increasingly mimics human care.

"Now he turns up his nose at shredded chicken — unless I add a bit of lemon thyme. He never used to be this fussy!

Why would someone cook for such an ungrateful diner? The answer comes soon enough:

"Of course, he gets mad at me every time I try to feed him the store-brand canned food."

Yes, that’s a cat they’re discussing.

"The chemo’s going really well. He’s tolerating most of the side effects, and his spirits are good. It’s a pain for me — a long commute — but he doesn’t seem to mind it."

Commuting for chemo? What’s up with that?

"He just sticks his head out the window and barks till his heart’s content."

Correct answer — dog.

Over the years, you catch on quicker. And then one day you overhear two women talking:

"I don’t know what it is about him. No matter what I say, he never listens! It’s soooo frustrating! His middle name should be Stubborn!"

Men, you think. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em. The conversation continues:
"I swore I’d never do it, but yesterday was the last straw. I’m just going to have to use the whip."

Horse people: They get me every time.

Even when I know it’s going to happen. I attend a birthday luncheon every year for a woman who has a lot of horse friends. Every year I tell myself, "Remember, you’re going to be around people who are talking about horses. When they say he was in so much pain they let him sleep in the pasture all night instead of making him return to the barn, they ain’t talking about Grandpa!"

And I still get fooled:

"Once he looked at me with those big brown eyes, I just had to take him home with me."